chapter eleven

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I'm so fucked.

My head is pounding painfully as I walk through the harshly lit hall to class. We had a sunrise weight room workout this morning, and I nearly puked all over the tiled floor of the gym multiple times mid-lift. Luckily, Micah and Luke were perceptive enough to keep Coach distracted when I looked like I was going to blow chunks, so he never actually found out that I was on the verge of death the entire time. It's not the first time we all rallied to keep Coach occupied so someone wouldn't get caught hungover as fuck at practice. And thanks to their dumbass antics, they saved me from being sent out to run on the snow-covered track, which is his usual hangover punishment. But what's worse than the physical torture I just endured in the weight room is the conversation waiting for me in chemistry with Abby Ryan.

I fucked up. I fucked up big time.

I knew I was making a mistake the second I pulled her panties down her legs and saw the look in her eyes. Abby isn't a one-and-done kind of girl, and I knew that, but it didn't stop me from giving in to the damn near primal need I had for her. Her body, those sexy, breathy moans, God, just thinking about it now is making me hard.

I shake the thought of how she tasted on my tongue because that can't happen again.

One and done, that's the rule. It keeps the line from blurring. It keeps it simple. Easy.

Easy, unlike the conversation I'm about to have with the one girl I should have never let myself hook up with. Out of all the girls in that bar last night, I ended up going down on the one who I'd be willing to bet has never had casual sex in her entire life. And now, hungover as fuck, I have to tell her that last night's bathroom hookup was just that—a hookup.

So, I repeat, I'm fucked.

When I walk into the classroom, my eyes lock in on Abby sitting in her usual seat. Her head is bent down as she types on the iPhone in her hands, and when she finally glances up and locks eyes with me, her cheeks flare a dark red as she looks away.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I can practically still taste her on my tongue when I sit down on the stool next to her, and I try not to focus on the fact that she's wearing those yoga pants I've grown so fond of as I shuffle around my bag for a second, pretending to look for my pen. And then, when I've finally manned up, I turn to look at her.

Act cool. Act normal.

"Good morning." I grin, setting my textbook down on the table.

"Morning," she replies in the same overly casual tone.

Good, we're on the same page then.

"We have a pop quiz today." Hannigan stands up and starts walking down the row of tables, dropping a test in front of each student as she goes. "No talking, no books, no cell phones," she warns. "Once you're done, you can bring it up to me, and then you're dismissed for the day."

She drops two tests on our table, and I hand Abby one as I flip it open and read through the questions. It's all fundamental shit that we covered in class this week, all stuff that I learned years ago in my early chemistry classes freshman year. I pick up my pencil and start filling in answers.

When I finish with the final question, I look up to see everyone else still bent over their papers, and I glance over to see Abby biting down on her lip as she focuses on a question halfway through the test.

Standing up, I pull my backpack onto my shoulder and walk to the professor's desk. Hannigan seems disappointed when I hand her the test, but she looks up with an impressed smile after scanning it. I turn on my heel and walk out of the classroom, dropping onto the bench outside. I guess I'll be here until Abby finishes the quiz, which could take all day based on her chem knowledge. I pull out my phone and scroll through the USASN app for a few minutes until a steady stream of students starts to filter out of the class. I look up expectantly every time the door opens, but it takes fifteen more minutes before she finally walks out of the room. She doesn't look back to see me on the bench, so I stand up quickly and jog to catch up to her.

"Abby, wait up," I call.

She looks over her shoulder and smiles at me, stopping in the middle of the hall to let me fall into step with her.

"Can we talk?" I ask, hating how awkward I sound.

She looks up at me, anxiety flashing in her eyes as she nods.

"Over here." I nod toward a small alcove under the stairs.

Her face is pale as she pulls her knit cardigan tighter around her.

"I—um—just wanted to touch base on what happened last night." I cough a few times to clear my throat.

She nods and looks around to make sure we're not being watched.

"Last night was—it was great, but it was just a hookup. Just a one-time thing." She tenses a little as her eyes widen, and I feel like a complete asshole, so I hurry to add something else to soften the blow. "I still want to be friends, but it just can't happen again." I don't mean to add the last part. That was more of a warning for myself because looking down at her now, all I can think about is pushing her against the wall right here, wanting to hear her moan my name again, to feel her around me as I thrust into her.

The hurt flashes across her face before she masks it, and then she nods. I'm not a stranger to having this conversation, but it usually doesn't make me feel like such an asshole.

"I don't mean..." I stop, rubbing my hand through my hair. "I just mean—"

"It's okay." She shakes her head, her voice soft. "I get it."

"You do." I breathe, relieved.

"Sure." She looks away, and I have a feeling she's looking for a quick exit.

"We're still on for the article, right?"

The flighty look in her eyes falters as she considers me.

"You don't mind?" She sounds hesitant.

I fucked things up between us. The least I can do is help her with this scholarship.

"Not at all."

"Okay." Her cheeks are still red as hell, and when she looks over her shoulder toward the entrance, I can tell she doesn't want to be here with me anymore.

"Are you still coming over tomorrow? After you get off work?"

She nods and tucks her hair behind her ear.

"I have to go to my next class." She backs up into the wall, and when she looks up at me, her cheeks flame again as she sidesteps the barrier to the exit. "I'll see you tomorrow, Beck."

She turns quickly and walks out of the building, straight into the frigid air, without waiting to pull on her coat hanging over her arm. I watch her go, I run a rough hand through my hair, pulling at the ends with an inward groan.

"Don't look at me like that." I sigh, sinking onto the barstool at the kitchen island.

James shrugs and looks back at his scrambled eggs, but I can still see the shock on his face. He keeps his eyes on his food before turning back to me, and I can tell by the what the fuck is wrong with you look that he's now giving me that I shouldn't have told him.

"Why Abby Ryan? Out of all the girls there last night?" He shakes his head as if he can't possibly understand, and I groan into my hands as I lean my elbows onto the countertop. "She's a walking advertisement for long-term relationships, T. She's not the kind of girl you just fuck in the bathroom." He snorts as he adds salt and pepper to the frying pan.

"I wasn't planning on it happening like that," I counter lamely as I spin the cap of my water bottle between my fingers, but I can tell by the snort that echoes through the kitchen that he's not buying it.

I wasn't. When I went out last night, I planned on getting a little buzzed, hanging out with the team, and then coming home and watching the Knicks game while trying to get caught up on some homework. Going down on Abby Ryan in the bathroom of O'Malley's wasn't part of that plan.

"And how did she react to the just a hookup conversation?" He tops his steaming plate with enough Sriracha to feed a small country and then drops down onto the stool on the other side of the island.

"Fine, I guess." I shrug, watching with a grimace as he scoops up a Sriracha-drenched pile of eggs and shovels it into his mouth. "She said she was fine and was cool with finishing the article."

He glances up, freezing mid-chew. "She's still writing the article?"

A few pieces of egg fall back onto his plate.

"She's coming tomorrow night to do the second interview." I nod, ignoring his stupid smirk at my choice of words. "And I really don't want it to be awkward."

He considers my comment as he takes another bite. "Abby's a cool girl," he says, shrugging as if that's answer enough for all of my problems. "You said you guys were going to be friends, so . . . be friends."

"Be friends?" I deadpan, watching him shovel another forkful of eggs into his mouth. "Is that really your grand piece of advice? Be friends."

He nods as if it's obvious.

"Be friends," I repeat, contemplating it.

"Coming back from a hookup with a friend isn't easy, but it's not impossible. You just have to work on the friendship and stay away from any situations that are going to end up with you two fucking in the bathroom."

I glance up at him again, but he doesn't seem to be fucking with me. He's serious about this whole be friends thing. "How do I work on the friendship?"

"Just do what friends do, T. Don't overthink it." He stands up and drops his fork into the sink with his plate. "It's pretty simple—just don't fuck her." He smirks, and I flip him off as he walks out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with nothing but the residual smell of Sriracha-drenched eggs and the same four words repeating over and over in my head.

Just don't fuck her.

I can do that.

I think.


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